Blackberry Days of Summer

by Ruth P. Watson

  Simon started the car and drove out of the schoolyard. Before he got to the end of the road, he stopped. “Do you want this baby?”

  “No! How could I want my stepfather’s child? Who would want what I’m going through? But I can’t throw the baby away.”

  “What about school? What about our plans?”

  “I was the one raped, not you! I didn’t ask for it. I was waiting for you! Can’t you understand that? I’m adopted myself. I want the baby to be with a good, loving family, one who cares. Is that too much to ask for an innocent baby?”

  My outburst had a calming effect on him. “Are there any other things that you haven’t told me? You seem to be full of secrets,” he said sarcastically. “For one, what do you mean, you’re adopted?”

  I was lower than I’d been in all these months. “I found out that I’m adopted. Anna is my real sister. I don’t know who I really am.” His face was like stone, and I slumped in the seat. “I did not ask to be adopted nor did I ask to be raped. What more do you want me to say? I was not hiding anything from you. I wanted to tell you to your face.”

  My eyes were red and swollen, but I had no more tears left to cry. I knew that Simon would be mad, but I couldn’t handle him lashing out at me. I apologized to him for the pain that I’d caused, even knowing that none of it was actually my fault. Yet all the way home he seemed far, far away.

  I had destroyed everything.

  CHAPTER 29

  PEARL

  Christmas was a special time in our community. Everyone, no matter where they lived, packed their things and traveled to a relative’s place. Many walked miles on foot and others rode in horse and buggies. My sister and brother arrived at our house early, wrapped up in hand-knitted scarves and hats. The snow had slowed them down, but nothing could keep them away. Momma had prepared all the fixings, turkey, dressing, and cranberry sauce. Since cooking wasn’t my thing, I helped where I could and cleaned up the mess after she was done.

  Willie had been acting strange all morning. He had gotten up when the sky was still dark, sat on the side of the bed for the longest time, and eventually had gone back to sleep. When he woke up again, he dressed, and instead of going into the kitchen for a cup of dark coffee—he liked his black—he went straight outside and started chopping up kindling. A bit later, when I checked out the window, he was gone. He stayed gone for more than an hour without coming in from the cold weather.

  “Where were you?” I asked when he came back in, rubbing his hands together in front of the fireplace.

  “I went out, to grab a few logs of firewood.”

  “We got plenty in here already. Rest, man, it’s Christmas,” my daddy said to him.

  He’d sit for a few minutes and then stand up. He was biting his fingernails, and leaving shoe scuff marks as he paced back and forth. I tugged his pants leg.

  “Please sit down. Come help me sing this song, Willie.”

  He sat down, still on edge, rubbing his hands together and shifting around as if he had somewhere else to be. He joined me with his deep baritone voice, but he gazed off into nowhere, moving his lips but removed from the spirit.

  We all sat around the fire singing Christmas songs. “O Holy Night” and “Away in a Manger.” My momma had a great singing voice and used to sing in the choir. Inside, she had yearned for the glitter of the nightclub as I’d done, but Daddy had kept her close to him.

  We opened the gifts of horehound candy, lemon drops, a blanket spread, and the gloves Momma knitted. I had ordered a hair curling iron for myself at the cost of a dollar from the Ellis Rand Co. in Chicago. The giving was customary for us and Willie had said his family did the same, yet by the look in his hollow eyes, he wasn’t getting any pleasure from it at all.

  After dinner, he announced, “I need to take a little walk. All this food done nearly put me to sleep.” He did that sometimes after a big meal, when it was still early enough to see the sun, so I didn’t think much of it. He put on his coat and hat. I watched him out of the family room window, watched him trample out of the yard, planting his brogan boots carefully in the snow. I must admit I was worried.

  Ten minutes passed, and a strange feeling came over me, like a ghost trying to tell me something. I was drawn into the bedroom. I pulled out the wooden box from under the bed and removed the towel on top and looked for the revolver. Along with Willie, it had disappeared. The bullets were missing, too.

  I panicked.

  I hastily put on my galoshes and coat.

  “Where are you going?” my momma asked.

  “I’m going to catch up with Willie,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “It’s cold out there, girl. It’s Christmas. Y’all ought to be in the house with the family.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  I dodged the scratches of the barren twigs, trees, and brush. Snow was still piled on the ground, but no footprints could be seen. All the way I prayed that I would find Herman before Willie did.

  The holiday had enticed folks out of their houses to the joint, where everyone found spirits and cheer. For the first time since I’d been back in town, the place was packed. Folks were sitting around, others standing, everyone drinking homemade liquor and cheering in the season. One woman was drunk and still shedding tears about the death of Madame C. J. Walker, who had passed away back in August. “I’ll never learn how to do hair,” she cried.

  People around her laughed.

  “She’s crazy,” someone said.

  The bar was crowded. Jake was going to go home happy and with more money than places to spend it.

  “Jake, have you seen Herman, or Willie?”

  He heard the concern in my voice. “What’s going on ’round here, Miz Pearl?”

  “Have you seen them?” I asked impatiently.

  “Tonight, everybody is looking for Herman.”

  Alarmed, I asked, “What does that mean?”

  “Ms. Mae Lou came looking for him, then Willie, some old lady, and now you. What the hell is going on ’round here?”

  “Come on, Jake, did Herman come in here today?” I asked, pushing him for a reply.

  “Yeah, he was here a few minutes before they showed up, all lightheaded and loose. He wasn’t feeling no pain. He took off a while after that, said he was going home.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  He scratched his head. “Well, there’s a shortcut Herman always take.”

  “Where? Which way?”

  He came from behind the bar. “Let me show ya where it is.”

  One of the patrons asked, “You singing tonight, Pearl?”

  “No, not tonight,” I said, and kept walking.

  I followed Jake through the crowd to the door. He pointed out into the snow. “Now, if you go down yonder, it will lead to Herman’s place.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You be careful. Snow clouds are in the air.”

  The path had been trampled down, as the one I’d taken to the joint. The bushes had been torn back, leaving a straight way through the barren trees. I had my hands down deep in my coat pocket, my fingers clenching Willie’s switchblade. I’d taken that out of his pants’ pocket before I left.

  As I walked down the path, all sorts of thoughts raced through my head.

  It was getting dark and the last thing I needed was to get lost in an unfamiliar path in the dark. The farther I traveled along the route, the more I began to hear voices in the distance. I started to run when I recognized Willie’s baritone pitch.

  Willie was on his knees, and Herman was standing over him. As I walked up, he had a gun pointed to Willie’s temple.

  “Please, Herman, what’s going on?”

  “This mutha-fucker wants to kill me. Well, look at big Willie now.”

  Willie was on his knees panting like a dog, so scared he didn’t move.

  “Pearl, take a look at yo’ boy. He ain’t the big-time soldier now.”

  “Don’t shoot him, Herman.”

  “He threatened m
e,” he slurred.

  “Please, Herman,” I said, trying to edge close enough to knock the gun out of his hand.

  He turned toward me.

  “You take another step and I will blow his damn head off.”

  Herman had an enormous amount of street in him, but I didn’t think he could be so brutal. But he was not intimidated by anyone, no matter how big they were.

  “Herman, let him go.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” he yelled.

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to gauge the best way to handle him.

  Then I couldn’t help it. “Herman, we can be together. Don’t do anything you will regret.”

  He turned toward me. “You ain’t nothing but a washed-up singer with a pretty face.”

  “Don’t, Herman,” I pleaded.

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Willie said.

  Herman stepped closer to him, and pushed the nozzle of the pistol in his ear.

  I was helpless. “Please don’t…” I begged. “I love you, Herman.”

  He kept the pistol impressed against Willie’s ear. He turned his head toward me, and with a penetrating gaze, he said, “I don’t want no ho. This mutha-fucker told Mae Lou about us. Now he’s gonna pay.”

  When he cocked the gun, fear rushed over me like a gust of wind. I pulled the switchblade out of my pocket and lunged at Herman and stabbed him in the shoulder.

  With a shriek of pain, he fell face forward in the snow with Willie’s switchblade still stuck in his right shoulder.

  Willie sprang to his feet.

  With a quick tug, he pulled the blade out of Herman. Herman was moving, scrabbling around on the ground.

  Willie grabbed my hand.

  “Come on, gurl, let’s go.”

  I roughly pulled away from him and bent down to help Herman.

  “Help me,” he mumbled.

  Willie put his arms around me and pulled me back. “Leave him there. Let’s get out of here.”

  I didn’t want to leave Herman lying helpless in the snow, but I had no choice.

  It was dark by the time we returned to the house. Everyone had gone to bed. The coals of fire were still hot in the fireplace, and the flames in the cast iron stove in the kitchen were dying down.

  Willie lit the lamp. We crawled onto the bed, both of us trembling. He put his thick arms around my shoulders. I laid my head on his chest as we pondered what was next.

  “Do you think he’s still alive?” I asked.

  Willie kissed me on the forehead.

  “See how this turned out? He was gonna kill me.”

  I turned partway to look at him. “I hope he doesn’t die. I didn’t mean to kill him. I wanted him to stop.”

  Willie remained calm. “We gonna ride this one through.”

  “You had a gun, Willie.”

  I could feel him shaking his head. “I was trying to scare him, make ’im leave you alone.”

  Why did this have to happen, I thought.

  “I killed him,” I said, and the tears started to roll down my cheeks.

  “You stopped him from blowing my head off. He’s a crazy fool.”

  “I’m scared, Willie.”

  “Don’t be. It’s self-defense. Besides, I don’t think he was dead. The knife was in his shoulder, not his heart.”

  Willie comforted me, wiping away my tears and rubbing my head.

  After a time, he blew out the oil lantern. I fell asleep wrapped in his thick arms and didn’t move all night. Willie held me close, even though I was the center of all the confusion.

  CHAPTER 30

  CARRIE

  Momma and I stayed up decorating the house with streamers of popcorn and ribbon. We lit candles around the house to aid in the Christmas Eve celebration. Carl and Mary were celebrating their first Christmas as a married couple. Everyone gathered in the kitchen for roast turkey, ham, dressing and all the fixings. Aunt Bessie and Uncle Bill both took a turkey drumstick. In between bites, Uncle Bill licked his fingers and smacked his mouth. “Bessie, don’t take this the wrong way, but Mae Lou is as good as they come with cooking.”

  I spent most of the day in my room waiting for Simon to arrive, hoping that he’d decided to forgive me. I had just finished eating Hermit cake and drinking eggnog when he finally walked through the door.

  We went into the front room, where two of Aunt Bessie’s children were finishing their food, licking their plates and hands as if they’d been starving. As soon as we sat down on the Davenport in front of the fireplace, Simon pulled a small, unwrapped box out of his pocket and handed it to me. Inside I found a necklace with a small cross on it. However, when I reached over to hug Simon’s neck, he recoiled. Obviously, he didn’t want to be touched.

  “When are you going back?” I asked, sadly.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon, right after dinner is served. I don’t want to hang around too long.”

  “Will I hear from you? Will you write me?” I asked.

  “You know how I am about writing. I’ll do my best, though.” Aunt Bessie’s two children were listening as intently as me, until I rolled my eyes at the both of them and they ran back into the kitchen.

  Simon seemed to be too upset to make any commitments. “We can’t talk in here,” he said.

  “Sorry, Aunt Bessie and her children are staying the night with us.”

  “Let’s go outside.”

  He helped me put on my coat and we walked out the front door. We sat in his car, neither of us saying a word. I slid closer to him, and thankfully, he didn’t move away. But he didn’t hug me or touch me, either.

  I asked, “What’s gonna happen with us? Have you changed your mind about the plans we made?”

  “I don’t know right now.” He was bitter, short. Then he rubbed his forehead. “Carrie, where’s your stepfather? I didn’t see him nowhere.”

  “Why are you asking me about him? I don’t know where he is. I don’t care if he never comes home. What about us, Simon?” I insisted.

  “You dropped this stuff on me and I can’t think right now. I don’t know. When will he be coming home?”

  “Simon, stop it. I don’t want to talk about Mr. Camm. I’ve had enough of him for all eternity. I want to know about us. Tell me, do you still love me?”

  “You can’t stop loving someone overnight, can you?” He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel and the horn accidentally blew. I glanced at the front room window and Aunt Bessie’s children had their faces glued to the pane. Simon acted as if he’d been the one who was violated, as if he’d been raped, not me. I had never known him to be filled with so much rage.

  “Are you gonna write me?” I asked again.

  “I’ll try,” he said, sighing.

  “You’ll try?”

  He relented. “Listen, I don’t know about that right now. There is so much to consider. I can’t get all this off my mind.” He softly whispered, “But I do love you.”

  “Simon, you know I didn’t want this to happen. Try to understand how I feel,” I pleaded with him.

  The moment had passed, though. He sat up ramrod straight. “It’s getting late. I’ve got to go now, need to pull out tomorrow afternoon. I don’t want to be tired.”

  “Don’t you want some dessert? You have to say good-bye to your sister.”

  He looked horrified by the idea of going back inside. “Nah, I’m not hungry, and I’ll see my sister at the house in the morning, for Christmas breakfast.” He turned and looked at me with troubled eyes. “I really have to go.”

  “I really don’t want you to leave, Simon.”

  He leaned over and kissed me on the lips. It was emotionless and dry. It made me wonder if I’d ever see him again. He didn’t even walk me to the door. He pulled off before I made it to the porch.

  Simon pulled the car out of our yard, his tires growling and skidding through the muddy road from the fallen snow. He was furious; the veins in his neck protruding like those of a wild man. I held up my hand to wave
, but all I could see was the fire in his eyes. Before making the left turn off the property, he stopped as if he wanted to stay, but then he sped off, dirt flying from underneath his tires. I watched him until he was out of sight. That was strange. He’d made a left, in the opposite direction of his house.

  I stayed outside for a while after he’d left, making sure my eyes were dry before going back in the house. The snow had stopped falling but the wind was blowing flurries. The dim moon behind the snow-filled clouds lit up the heavens.

  I didn’t know where he might be going. He’d left with rage in his eyes. I felt as if he’d wanted to caress me and comfort me, but he’d held back. He was confused. He loved me, but he couldn’t love me. It was an awful feeling for me, because now I really needed him.

  After I had gone back in the house and the children lay down to sleep, I suddenly realized where Simon was going.

  I had been riding horses all my life, had learned when I was four years old. I put the saddle on the mule and pulled him out of the barn. One of the horses was already missing, and I wondered where he was.

  I took the shortcut toward the juke joint. Simon already had a thirty-minute jump on me, and I hoped I wasn’t too late.

  The wind was fierce going through the path. The bareness of the forest opened into an entry Mr. Camm frequently traveled. I was afraid, scared for my life and Simon’s. As I got closer to the joint, I could hear gay voices of laughter and celebration. As I took the last curve and caught a glimpse of the lights, the mule came to a halt.

  Directly in front of me was the body of Mr. Camm crawling in the snow, struggling for help.

  “Help me, please,” he said, not knowing who I was.

  I couldn’t get off the mule. And my conscience wouldn’t let him die.

  “Hold on, I’ll get some help,” I said.

  “Carrie, is that you?”

  “Yes, I’ll be right back.”

  I coaxed the mule around Mr. Camm and hurried to the joint. I jumped down off the mule and ran toward the door, and the fire of a shotgun sound off in the distance pierced my eardrum. The boom echoed in the stillness of the night

  “Oh my God!” I screamed.